Elle was perfect. Rory was not. And Rory wanted to change that no matter the consequences. [highest rating: #297 in short story] [© 2015 aftertastefully]

"The moment that Jordan Shearer steps into the classroom, Lee knows that he's not from around here." Preslash short between two boys from two very different backgrounds. Ingredients: two cups of Glasgow Patter; one teaspoon of NED; a tablespoon of callow middle class; a cup of general teenage incompetence; and an entire quart of UST.

Mike disappeared on a clear day. I remember that, at least, though not much else. I was five years old. "Try," the policemen said to me. "Try harder. Remember."

In which a happy Sylvia Plath and a disgruntled Oscar Wilde meet over coffee to discuss boys, legal studies terms and the perils of being a writer in a logical world. [Now a Wattpad Featured Story] [#40 in Short Story 11/4/16] Cover by @DriveMeCrayCray

When Maverick Hawke is nine years old, he is told that he will die before he reaches the age of twenty five. His life changes forever, finally becoming aware of the disease that he had been sheltered from his whole life. It's incurable, unstoppable, and it effects every single person born after the year 1990. With a 100% mortality rate, the world is in a desolate state. They've created a system, a way of classifying the infected. There's the Positives, the ones who have a higher chance at reaching the age of 25, they experience less symptoms, live fuller lives. Then there's the Negatives, some dying as young as 17, they live with terrible symptoms, wasting away before everyone's eyes. This itself is bad enough, but there's more. Of course there's more. They don't know how it happens, they don't know the mechanics behind it. They just know that it's proven, and it is absolutely and utterly forbidden. A Positive and a Negative must never fall in love because if they do, it will kill them both.

Sometimes people are satellites; looking for light to reflect, holding onto what might save them.

If people were natural disasters, he was a hurricane. Of course you wouldn't know that by just looking at him with those oceanic blue eyes and that windswept blond hair, looking as if he'd just stumbled off of an island. Maybe he looked like he rode the waves instead of creating them. But he was a hurricane: destructive and utterly antagonistic. And I just couldn't get enough.

❝She was too busy to realize that he did see everything in her − too busy to realize that he still does.❞ All rights reserved @ o p t i c a l i t y | 2017

And in his heart, he became a perishable painting; in which Ray Singh falls in love with the dead Viktor Ivanovich. #taygetsthegay #181 Copyright © 2016, humanoligy

➳ " I called him 'Depression' because he was the living, breathing definition of the very word. " ➳